SuperPeanut

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's official: I'm now in trouble.

Peanut has been quite busy making sure my hair changes color early. Thus far, he's used the low wall outside our fire pit as the scene for leaping off burning buildings, but now that's old news. We're on to bigger and better things.

As I was busily discussing family news and bemoaning Peanut's latest outfoxing maneuvers with Nana, Peanut came tearing into my room. The kid had removed his socks and donned the all-important Thomas backpack (specifically for preschool and any adventure Peanut deems appropriate). This, I have learned, is not a good combination. Sure enough, Wonder Toddler leapt off the bed and tried mightily to land among my pile of throw pillows. Thankfully, he succeeded.

"OMG!!!" He's a stunt double!!!"
"And you're surprised??"

Hmph.

When it comes to Flying SuperPeanut, Nana is no help whatsoever. I'm guessing it has something to do with Evil Twin and I, but in all honesty, I'm happier if I can pull of plausible deniability. Or not.

Call me Mother of the Year.